Too Late
by aly.lynn122
Summary: The Avengers finally find their missing scientist, only to discover that they were too late to save him. In the aftermath of the mission, the team tries to cope. Prequel to Blurred Lines.
1. Chapter 1

The first thing Tony noticed was how cold the room was. Even in his suit, he could feel the chill in the air. Colder even than when he floated in the abyss of space briefly before being caught in a welcome pair of arms.

Arms that were now strapped to a metal operating table, palms turned up, veins left vulnerable and exposed, like the rest of the man appeared.

Bruce Banner could not die. Not with the Hulk raging in his bloodstream like an irradiated body guard. If the doctor's heart stopped beating, the Hulk restarted it with frightening efficiency.

But Bruce wasn't anything close to a shade of green. If anything, he was blue. Everything except his eyes. His usually warm, brown gaze was staring dead at the ceiling under a dry sheet of gray.

"No, no, no. Bruce, don't do this," Tony warned violently, retracting his gloves to start compressions on the doctor's cold, still chest. He grunted as he pressed, hard enough that he would have worried about breaking ribs had they not already looked broken.

"Jarvis, tell Cap to get the stretcher in here, and to bring Clint."

"Very well, sir," the AI replied, but Tony barely heard him over the blood rushing in his ears.

"Damn it, Banner, _breathe!_ " Tony growled before leaning over to blow air into Bruce's lungs.

"Stark! Where are you?" A voice from the hall called out, just as Tony was switching back to compressions.

"In here. Hurry!"

 _Come on, Bruce._

* * *

Steve ran towards the sound of Tony's voice, dragging the wheeled stretcher behind him. Clint had to push hard to keep up with the super soldier, running blindly after him until he almost ran him over when he stopped dead in a doorway.

"Stark! How is….. Oh no…"

The billionaire didn't even seem to register the Captain's words. He was frantically alternating between trying to pump Banner's heart and trying to fill his lungs. But the doctor's eyes remained fixated on a spot high above them, empty and lifeless as the rest of him. His mouth was hanging open, jaw limp as though he had been screaming when the light left his eyes.

The room reeked of sterility, like a hospital. But the blood splattered around the floor and the walls provided a stark contrast to the clean scent. Banner's table stood in the middle of the room, opposite a large viewing window embedded in the wall.

"Tony…." Steve started, only to be cut off by a glare from the inventor.

" _No!"_ he snapped with such ferocity, Clint wouldn't have been surprised to see green in his eyes.

"Cap," Natasha called from over the com.

"Here," Steve replied, unable to tear his eyes away from the body Stark was working over, "We were too late." His voice was so quiet that Clint couldn't hear his words, just read the despair in his eyes.

" _What?"_ came the disbelieving response from the com in Steve's ear, followed by Tony's snarl.

"Like _hell_ we were. Am I the only one who is going to do anything here? Get him on that stretcher, we have to get him to SHIELD!"

Clint and Steve exchanged a knowing look before wordlessly scooping up their fallen friend and depositing him as gently as possible on the stretcher. Up close, he looked worse. Tear tracks were still visible on the blood-stained skin of his face, jaw locked and body stiff.

They were too late by a couple of days at the most, despite three months of tearing the country apart in their search.

Tony was upon him again immediately, resuming compressions on that unyielding, now caved in chest. But Steve did nothing to stop him, Bruce was beyond the concern of a few broken ribs. If Tony noticed how cold, dry, and chapped the physicist's unmoving lips were, he didn't say. Instead, he seamlessly moved from chest to mouth, even as the stretcher was lifted into the quinjet and they set off towards the helicarrier.

No one tried to talk sense into Stark again. He seemed to hear nothing but the eternal silence of Bruce's heart, and the empty space where his breaths should have been.

* * *

It took two medics to tear Tony off of Bruce in the medbay, and another to press a gentle finger to the physicist's throat and pronounce him dead. The words seemed to be what finally broke the billionaire. He didn't scream, or collapse, or even sob. He simply staggered back into a chair, and lowered himself like a man approaching the gallows. His hands wound through his hair as he held his head, staring at the steel floor with shining, wide eyes empty of all their usual mirth. It was, surprisingly, Clint who broke. He leaned over the doctor's corpse, pulling him into a loose embrace and cradling the man's head in his calloused fingers, eyes clenched as he buried his head into the cold skin of Bruce's shoulder. The archer's sobs shattered the tentative silence of the medbay. Wordlessly, the medical staff left, leaving the team to mourn their soft-spoken friend in peace.

For a while, no one spoke. Natasha leaned against the wall, eyes glued to Bruce's wrist resting on top of the white sheet covering his lower body, where deep bruises decorated his inner wrists where he had strained against the cuffs. Subconsciously, she rubbed her own wrists, as if remembering the feel of restraints removed long ago. Tony held vigil over his spot on the floor, and didn't look up when Steve stepped into his line of sight.

"Someone needs to tell Thor," Natasha spoke up from her corner, eyes landing on Tony.

"Fuck that. If he wanted to know, he should have helped us search, and even better, helped us get him back. Where was he all these months?" Clint snapped, looking up from Bruce's shoulder to glare at no one in particular.

"He was on Asgard visiting his family, and then he was far from here, following my orders to stay with his friends. I didn't tell him anything, purposely. An alien storming a US military facility would have been seen as an act of war. The last thing he needs is to be dragged into intergalactic politics," Steve replied evenly, eyes still on Tony. The man didn't even seem to register the discussion.

"Fuck your orders. It was fucking politics that kept us from getting to Bruce in the first place. You wouldn't just let us get it out of Ross, it'd cause 'too much of a scene'. If we had, we might have…. We could have…" The archer's voice broke, and he convulsed once more into sobs. Natasha left her place on the wall to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.

"It's not our fault, Clint. We didn't know," she said softly, moving to stand beside him. Steve pretended not to notice how she raised her other hand to rest it over the doctor's.

"Of course it's not your fault," a rough voice drawled from behind Steve, "It's mine."

Tony raised his eyes to meet Steve's now, and the level of grief and guilt in them caused the soldier to step back slightly.

"Tony…" Natasha started, only to be cut off by the engineer's hand slashing the air in front of him.

"He was in _my home_ when they took him. Fuck, I didn't even listen when he said he needed to run. I convinced him to stay, told him he would be safe…. I should have set up more precautions. I should have known he wouldn't hulk out to protect himself, not in such a crowded city. I should have _listened."_

"There are things all of us could have done, but none of that will make a difference now, and it might not even have made a difference then. Ross has been after him for years, he wasn't about to give up just because Banner made a few new friends. He would have fought us to get to him, and how would Bruce have felt? How would Bruce feel now, knowing how much we are tearing ourselves apart for this? No, we owe it to him to try and forgive ourselves, as he would have if he were standing here," Steve said, his Captain America voice peeking through the cracks of his heavy words.

"But he's _not_ here, Rogers, and someone has to answer for it," Clint hissed. Steve sighed, shaking his head. They couldn't be reasoned with right now, but he could almost hear the doctor in his head, pleading with them not to blame themselves, because he was the one who went willingly, knowing the consequences. He made his choice, and there was nothing his team mates could have done. Ross would have found him again, and again. And the last thing Bruce had ever wanted was for someone to get hurt defending him.

In his rational mind, Steve knew this. Knew it wasn't their fault, knew what the doctor would have wanted. But looking at the lifeless body on the table, wasted away, beaten, surgery scars and burns visible beneath the bright lights, it wasn't so easy to rationalize away the guilt eating at him. While he had been enjoying lunches with the President in an attempt to bring the man to their side, Bruce had been tortured, experimented on, starved, and forgotten by everyone but his few friends. No one had wanted to help. Ross had won the right to detain Banner legally, and no one was going to go through the political shitstorm it would take to revoke that right. Not even Tony's bribes had been able to buy the man's location, or freedom.

Steve was not new to loss. One didn't suddenly jump forward more than half a century and not have anyone to mourn. But even his experience with grief didn't make this loss any easier. Of all the team members he had prepared his goodbyes for, Bruce was not one of them. The man was invincible, it had seemed. The Hulk protected him, and they had all believed he would have outlasted the other Avengers by decades. Not even Coulson or Pietro's death had affected him quite so much. Coulson was an agent, he knew the risks, and they had barely had time to know the boy called Quicksilver before his untimely end. But Bruce… Bruce they had known for over a year now. They had shared meals with him, carried him to his bed after he collapsed on the battlefield when the Hulk receded, had watched him change from a flighty, trembling fugitive to a happy, sarcastic man whose wit could give Tony Stark a run for his money. A man whose dark eyes lit up when he laughed, a man whose easy chuckle could shift the atmosphere of a room. A man who, in the end, had given his life protecting others. Banner used to joke that he wasn't really an Avenger, only the Hulk was. But down to his dying breath, the man had been a hero, an Avenger, and a friend. Somehow, it didn't seem possible for such a vivacious soul to be reduced to the husk sitting on the table before him.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because when Steve raised his eyes to look at Natasha, she gave him a soft, watery smile that reminded him so much of Bruce, it was almost painful. She looked about to say something, but was interrupted by the swish of the door opening. Four lifeless eyes looked up to meet a single, staring gaze.

"I had hoped the reports were incorrect," Fury sighed when his eyes fell on the corpse. He brought a dark hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose for a moment, huffing a breath before continuing.

"You've all had a long day. I think you need to eat, shower, and sleep, in that order. We'll take care of Banner."

"' _A long day?'_ That's all you can say?" Tony growled, "Look at him, Fury. Fucking take a good look. This is as much your fault as it is ours. You refused to get involved, refused to lend more than your under-the-table support in finding him. Was it worth it? To have the council off your back? Was it fucking worth it?"

"Stark!" Steve snapped, turning a heavy glare on the billionaire.

"No, I'm done. I'm done playing soldier and I'm done listening to your bullshit. All of you, out. I need a minute with Bruce. _Alone_."

Steve sighed at the same time as Fury, causing the soldier to look up in surprise at the director. He had never seen the man look so conflicted. With a nod in the direction of Clint and Natasha, he left without further discussion. One by one, the other Avengers filed out. Clint brought his brow to Bruce's forehead one last time, whispering something in his ear that no one else was able to catch. Natasha took a moment to give his hand a final squeeze before pressing a kiss to his temple, the same spot he had always rubbed when he had a headache coming on. Steve brushed the man's curls from his brow in a rare gesture of tenderness from the soldier, before quickly pulling his hand away and leaving the room with a final, guilt-laced glance at their fallen friend.

* * *

In the hallway, Steve couldn't meet the eyes of the agents, instead taking off in a brisk walk to chase after Fury. The director seemed to sense someone behind him, because he had stopped a few doors down from the medbay, watching the Captain expectantly.

"What's going to happen to him?" Rogers asked before he could stop himself. Part of him didn't want to know, but even in death, his friend's corpse was still dangerous. It was bad enough the military had his blood, no one else needed to be able to get their hands on it.

"Cremation, it's what he would have wanted. We'll have a ceremony for him, and then we will give the ashes to you to do with what you like. He has no other family, and wasn't very well liked even before the accident, so you're it. You, Barton, Romanoff, Stark… you're his only family, now. We'll invite others, of course, like his old fling Elizabeth Ross and some of the few friends he has managed to keep over the years. All you need to worry about is making sure the other Avengers don't do something….unwise in their grief. The last thing we need is another one of you in trouble with the law," Fury answered, his voice back to his full bravado. It almost made Steve want to punch him. Almost.

"Thank you, sir. I'll tell the others," he responded instead, turning to leave without being dismissed. If he stayed any longer, the director might have to wear two eyepatches instead of one. The man seemed to sense this, as he turned around and walked the other way without so much as a grunt in the soldier's direction. Steve paused to listen to him go before joining the Natasha and Clint at the door. The medbay windows had been darkened, leaving no glimpse of what was happening inside the room. But of any of them, it was clear Stark needed the privacy the most. While they had all grown close, Tony was the one who had found a best friend in Bruce, someone who was his equal and superior in many things. Without him, Steve wondered if Tony would even continue to be an Avenger. He was barely on friendship terms with the rest of the team.

* * *

As soon as the door closed, Tony began searching through drawers. Finally, he found what he was looking for. A vial of epinephrine, enough for twelve doses.

 _Or one dose for a giant,_ he thought as he dug around for the largest syringe he could find. When he finally located one that could hold all of the liquid, his heart was racing in his chest. He could almost feel the hum of the vibranium in his sternum, even though his reactor had been removed ages ago.

Only when the syringe was filled did Tony finally approach the bed, trying not to notice the dead eyes of his friend. For a moment, the engineer hesitated. He wasn't a doctor, had never even seen the inside of a medical school, let alone taken a course. He knew enough about general health, sure, but this….Did he really want to do this?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Tony jammed the needle right through Bruce's chest, on the side of his sternum and between his ribs, straight to his heart. The liquid injected slowly, and the billionaire forced himself to look into Bruce's eyes, hoping to see a spark of life there. But as the needle emptied, all he saw was his own reflection in the man's empty stare. With a curse, Tony flung the needle across the room and slammed his fist into Bruce's chest, then gathered him gently in his arms and cried into the hollow of his throat. His temple rested where the physicist's pulse should have been, and it only made the man sob harder into the cold, frozen skin under his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, I'm so sorry," he whispered breathlessly, letting his tears wash away some of the blood from his friend's shoulder.

Suddenly, it was all too much. Tony couldn't be there anymore, couldn't be there with the reminder of how much he had failed his only true friend. All that mattered now was that someone paid for this senseless cruelty, and Tony knew just where to find him. After all, what kind of an Avenger was he if he let Ross get away?

So lost in his grief and anger, Tony stalked out of the room without noticing the green tinge beginning to manifest on his friend's corpse.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor was eating lunch with Jane at a small diner that was a local favorite. It had been a good day, thus far. They had gone for a walk in the morning, and then decided to get lunch in town before returning home from running errands. They were in the truck on their way back to Jane's house when his phone rang. Only a few mortals had his number, and the screen told him it was the good Captain. Perhaps he would be allowed to rejoin the Avengers now? He was grateful for the vacation, but it rang too much like banishment to him, and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Captain, how goes it?" he greeted, raising the phone to eye level so the camera could see him. It was a struggle, still, not to crush the pathetic piece of machinery in his grip.

"Not well, Thor," the Captain replied, making the demigod peer more closely at the screen. It was hard to see in the glare of the sun on the glass, but it almost looked like Rogers' eyes were rimmed in red. Had he been crying?

"What has happened, friend? What sorrows you so?" The soldier didn't reply right away, instead he ran a hand through his hair, breaking apart the blonde waves. Finally, he spoke.

"Thor, we need you to come in. Someone kidnapped Banner, and…"

"And we shall make him rue the day he set eyes upon our brother in arms. Tell me, good Captain, where I can find our friend and the people who hold him. And pray that the good doctor has not been harmed, for there shall be no mercy if he has," Thor thundered, sitting up straighter in his seat. They were almost at the house, it seemed. Jane was looking at him with concern, worry for both him and Banner.

"That's the thing, Thor…. We….." The Captain's voice broke, and even on the small screen Thor could see the tears shining in his eyes. The sight worried him greatly. On Asgard, it was common for men to cry in public. On Midgard, it was rare. It was even rarer to see such a display from Rogers, who he had only ever known to deal with his grief in private.

"We shall make it right, my friend. Tell me where to find him, and I will meet you there," the thunderer promised, hoping it would reassure the obvious guilt plaguing the other man. But the Captain shook his head, holding up his other hand in a gesture for Thor to wait as he composed himself. After a deep, shuddering breath and a few long blinks, he tried again.

"We found him, already. But we were… We were too late, Thor. He… He's gone, was gone well before we got to him. We know who's responsible, but we can't deal with that right now. Right now… We need to have a ceremony, give him that, at least. We need you to come up to.. To say your goodbyes."

Thor collapsed back into the seat, staring at the phone where it quivered in his hands. He felt the truck lurch to a stop, and then Jane's hand was upon his own, steadying the screen and providing grounding comfort.

"I need to see him first," Thor said finally, voice dry.

"SHIELD already took the corpse. It'd be bad if anyone got their hands on it. But… there are pictures, from the mission report. They aren't nice, though. I can send them to you, if you want, but I don't think they will help. It's not pretty," Steve offered, his tone soft.

"It matters not, I must see this with my own eyes. Send me the images, please, and the mission report, so I can read what has become of our dear friend."

"Alright, I'll send them now. We're having the ceremony in a couple of days, once we decide where we want to hold it. I'll have Stark.."

"Captain," Thor interrupted, eyes hard.

"Yes?"

"Was this the cause of my requested absence?"

To his credit, the soldier didn't fumble for words or excuses. He met Thor's gaze levelly, even through the screen.

"Yes, I didn't want to endanger relations between Earth and Asgard if you were seen attacking a military facility."

Thor roared, such a menacing sound coming from a demigod with powers over the weather. The sky darkened ominously.

"You were a fool, Captain. I should have been made aware. There are those in Asgard who could have found him with naught but a moment to look. Heimdall alone could have located him…."

"I'm well aware of my own failures in this matter," Rogers replied, holding up a hand to silence the demigod's rant, "but placing blame will not bring Banner back, and the last thing he would want us to do is attack each other in our grief. I need to go, there are things we need to take care of on our end. Please don't desecrate the doctor's memory by doing anything rash. It's up to us to uphold his integrity, now."

With that, the soldier ended the call, leaving the screen blinking in Thor's hands as the text messages containing the information came in. Taking a deep breath, the thunderer squeezed Jane's hand before opening the messages. The report was vague, referring only to "invasive procedures" and telling the reader to see the pictures. The other information in the file listed Dr. Banner's birthdate, his physical features, and the events of his upbringing, which Thor was already aware of.

The pictures, on the other hand, left nothing to the imagination. The doctor's body was lined with scars, places where even the Hulk's regenerative abilities had been put to the test. Heavy restraint marks encircled his limbs, and various bruises and burns decorated his frail body. The physicist had always been thin, but his corpse had been starved to grotesque proportions. Hipbones jutted out at an angle, and every rib was visible in his pale torso. Thor's fist shook, and before he could comprehend what was happening, his phone was taken from his grip. He looked over to meet Jane's worried gaze as she brought the phone up to her own line of sight. She took only a second to look at the photos before she clicked the screen away, flinging the phone down onto the seat to cup Thor's cheek with her other hand. He clenched her fingers in his grip, careful not to harm her. His entire being shook with grief, shock, and anger. It would have been so easy, so simple to locate the doctor had someone simply informed him of the circumstances. Such a senseless, violent death for a gentle soul.

Jane drew him closer, pulling his head to her shoulder as his arms twined around her torso. The sobs broke through his anger, and he trembled under her touch. She held him for what seemed like hours, as he mourned the doctor with a level of emotion only fit for a warrior's passing. Thor, despite his upbringing, was unaccustomed to loss.

* * *

In the end, they decided to have the ceremony on the roof of Stark tower. It was a place Bruce had often liked to visit, to dangle his feet over the edge of the tower and lean back, basking in the sunlight as he hummed a showtune. Usually, someone had to come hunt him down up there to get him to come to supper.

Now, the tower was empty. Tony had dismissed all of the staff, telling Jarvis to lock the door against anyone who hadn't been invited to the funeral. There weren't many people. There were the Avengers, out of uniform in favor of black clothing that reflected their current mood. Also, was a woman none of them had ever met, but had known about. Betty Ross came alone, wearing a black dress and flats, pale face and bright eyes stamped with shock and disbelief, even when she came face to face with the picture sitting beside the urn full of ashes. No one mentioned her father, and she didn't bring him up.

Thor was there, having decided to follow Earth customs and dress in a black suit. Mjolnir rested at his side, as if he was hoping someone would attack, just to give him the excuse to take out his righteous anger on someone deserving. He spoke to no one, simply stared at the bleak sky with a heavy heart. Jane awaited him at their hotel, having claimed she didn't think it proper to attend the hero's wake with the other Avengers who had fought at his side.

Steve stood watch over the ashes, not leaving the side of the table, nor meeting anyone's eyes. Clint and Natasha looked out over the city from the side of the roof, hands intertwined in a supportive gesture. Clint had already requested a leave of absence after the ceremony, to spend time with his family. Of all of them, Natasha seemed to be taking it the best, considering she had been the closest to Bruce. She mourned her lover's passing like any other loss, with not even the tiniest crack in her stoic mask to show her true emotions. She had refused Steve's offer of leave, saying she preferred to stay here where she was needed. It was certainly something the Captain could respect.

Tony threw himself into planning the ceremony, managing to keep it both extravagant and diluted, for the doctor's sake. The rooftop had been outfitted with a lavender carpet for the occasion, and he had spared no expense in outfitting the scientist's urn with vibranium tinted a lavender hue, decorated with silver swirls reminiscent of ancient Chinese art. An inscription was laser etched into the metal, reading:

 **Doctor Robert Bruce Banner**  
 **Beloved son, friend, and hero**

 **Brilliant physicist, compassionate partner, and courageous brother-in-arms**

 **December 18, 1969 - August 3, 2014**

 **Hulk**  
 **Brother, hero, and friend**  
 **Unflinchingly loyal, brave, and loving**

 **January 18, 2006- August 3, 2014**

 **You were both loved beyond words, and will be missed beyond measure.**

It was Tony who spoke first, unsurprisingly. His face was pale, skin on his cheeks red, but his eyes were dry when he faced the pathetically small crowd.

"We are here today to remember our brother, Bruce Banner, and his green side, the Hulk. Both of them fought beside and for us without hesitation, and without question."

Tony took a minute to shuffle his notecards, eyeing the others as he did so. Betty watched him intently, sniffling slightly as she bit back her tears. The others simply stood and looked over Tony's head, all except for Steve, whose eyes were glued to the picture of Bruce resting against the urn.

"Bruce was never a man of many words, at least not in the time we knew him. But that doesn't mean he wasn't a man of many thoughts. He once told me that a busy mind makes up for an empty life. In the same breath, he also told me that since meeting us, his life wasn't quite so empty anymore. I don't know if that meant he finally stopped overthinking. If you knew Bruce, you'd know that was impossible."

The billionaire looked up again, a small smile cracked on his face. Natasha, Betty, and Steve returned it, if only slightly.

"But in the short amount of time we knew him, we got to see Bruce undergo a metamorphosis. When I first met him, he was shy, seemed to scared to even blink in someone's direction in case he set them off. But he always had a smile, for everyone. He met my prodding and pranks with a soft laugh, and never blamed anyone for being afraid of him, which most people were. As we got to know both the man and the monster, it became rapidly apparent that both of them had been underestimated. Bruce and Hulk, whether they were two different people or just different sides of the same coin, did everything within their power to help those they cared about, and even those they didn't. We had the privilege of watching Bruce grow as a scientist, and watching Hulk grow as a person, a person capable of teamwork, understanding, and compassion. And when he wasn't big and green, Bruce was the gentlest soul I ever met. He could put Buddha to shame, really."

Tony huffed a small laugh, but his eyes drifted to the photo of Bruce, shining dimly in the afternoon sun.

"Bruce was an enigma. Always carrying such a crippling anger, and yet never raising a hand to anyone if he could avoid it. Even to the very end, both he and the Hulk were heroes. And they both deserved so much better. _He_ deserved so much better."

The other Avengers nodded their assent, while Betty looked at them with new understanding before returning the nod. Tony walked calmly back into the crowd, leaving the spot before them open for someone else to take. Everyone was a bit surprised when Betty stepped forward immediately.

"I don't know if you know who I am. But then again, you probably do. I'm Elizabeth Ross, known to friends as Betty. I…. I don't have much to say. I let Bruce down, time and time again. We met when I was a student in graduate school. Had things gone differently, I might have married him. I know it's what he wanted. But, then the accident happened, and I couldn't keep up with a relationship with someone on the run, especially when the person chasing him was my father. Bruce's love for me put him in danger, over and over. Never once did he complain, never once did he…"

The scientist's voice broke, and she took a moment to swipe at the tears that broke free of their dam. It was easy to see why Bruce had loved her, once, Natasha thought. Her kindness was evident in the way she held herself, the way she avoided looking at the urn beside her.

"I finally ended it after Harlem. It was clear that with the Hulk in Bruce's life, there was no room for me. Bruce thought he needed to find a cure, to keep me safe. But when I looked at the Hulk, I knew there would be no cure, because they were one and the same. To cure Hulk would be to take away Bruce's deepest emotions, and I couldn't let him do that. So, I left, and moved on, hoping he would do the same. From what I have heard, he did."

Betty raised her gaze to meet Natasha's levelly, eyes soft and expressive. The spy couldn't help but feel that her walls were being chipped away, piece by piece, under the emotions in that stare. But in a moment, it was over, and Betty continued.

"I will never be able to thank any of you enough, for what you did for Bruce. And I'll never be able to thank him enough, for what he did for me. My father… I won't make excuses for my father. What he did was unforgivable. But Bruce never asked for excuses, or validation. He seemed to understand, without an ounce of blame, my father's reasons in a way I never could. Perhaps he had internalized them too much. But in the end, it doesn't matter. Bruce was Bruce, always. He never held my parentage against me, and never held my father's disturbing passion against him. Bruce was… Bruce was a good man, a better person than most of us could ever hope to be. I hope, wherever he is, he is finally getting the peace he deserves. I…."

She left the unspoken words hanging in the air, quickly retreating back into the group as a sob wracked her body. Natasha laid a supportive hand on her shoulder before stepping forward to take the woman's place, giving the crowd a soft smile before speaking.

"I'll keep this short and sweet, like Bruce. He was more than just a friend to me. In our own way, we loved each other, even if neither of us thought ourselves capable of it. Our broken, jagged edges fit perfectly together, and though what we were never had a name, it gave us both something to hold onto in this fucked up world. Tony was right, Bruce deserved better. He deserved so much better than the guilt he carried. Once, he told me that the dead never left him. He remembered their faces, their names, bore the burden of their loss without complaint, and strived to do better for it. And despite the constant anger, despite the constant sorrow, with us, Bruce was happy. He loved us just as much as we loved…. As we love him. And that's what he would want you to remember, to take away from this. That we loved a man who thought he was unloveable. That we made a difference. Despite his last few months, I know in my heart that Bruce died in peace, knowing he was loved, and knowing that even then, he was able to protect us. That's all I have to say."

"He deserved better," Steve echoed quietly, causing everyone's head to turn towards him expectantly. With a sigh, he went to stand beside Natasha. She didn't disappear back into the crowd. Instead, she rested a hand gently on his shoulder, offering her silent support.

"I don't have anything to say. I don't deserve to be able to speak. It's my fault Bruce is gone, and that is a burden I'll take with me to my grave. He was a good man, and even though he never believed it, he deserved so much better than what life gave him. I can only hope that now, in death, he is finally getting it. Does anyone else want to speak?"

The Captain looked at the crowd pleadingly, desperately hoping to get out of the spotlight. Steve didn't know what to do with guilt, but he felt like a poser standing in front of Bruce's friends, despite being one of them. He was the reason they were all standing here, instead of Bruce.

"Aye," Thor said, striding forward with heavy steps to take Steve's place. He and Natasha slipped back into the group, going back to stand beside Clint, who barely noticed their presence.

"On Asgard, Bruce would have been sent off in a fire bright enough to see from the Heavens. But perhaps, this is more fitting. The good doctor was a quiet soul, wise beyond his years for a mortal. He knew truths about the world that I have yet to learn. I can only aspire to, one day, be half of the man he was. I had the honor of fighting him, once. He was an impressive foe, but an even better ally. May the light of the stars light your path to Valhalla, my brother, for you had a warrior's heart. We can only hope that some day, we may fight at your side once more."

Thor thumped his heart, over his shirt, and gave the crowd a tearful smile. He didn't bother trying to wipe the evidence of his grief from his face, instead walking back into the crowd with his head held high, wet cheeks and all.

"Clint," Tony called, startling the archer from his thoughts, "did you want to say anything?"

"Yeah," Clint returned with a scowl, "Fuck this. All of this. Banner and Hulk deserved better than this, and they deserved better than us. What kind of friends are we, we abandoned him when he needed us the most, pretending to play politician and hero instead of marching straight to Ross's house and demanding he release him to us. We never should have tried to play nice. Banner might not have been happy with us, but at least he would be here to be something with us. We let him down, all of us, and no pretty speech from me is going to change that fact. So fuck this, I'm leaving, call me when there is something to blow up."

The man turned around violently, throwing his suit jacket onto the ground before slamming the rooftop door behind him. Beneath their feet, they could hear the hum of the elevator. No one dared go after him, not even Natasha. She knew him well enough by now. He was like this after someone told him about Coulson. Guilt did strange things to normal people. She was far too familiar with the feeling to understand it.

"He'll be alright," she reassured the group, despite the worrying thoughts in the back of her mind. Clint would go home to Laura, and his kids. He would hold his infant son, and set to work on the farmhouse. He knew how to cope, he wasn't the one she needed to worry about.

"Natasha, would you…" Steve took a deep breath, trying to rein in his emotions before continuing, "would you like to do the honors?"

The spy turned around to find them all looking, not at her, but at the urn still perched on the table. They had all decided to scatter Bruce's ashes over the city, although in each of their pockets was a small plastic bag filled partially with some of the ashes. None of them had been able to bear the thought of not having some part of the doctor to keep with them.

"Alright," she murmured, stepping to the front of the group once more. Taking the lid gently off the urn, she set it to the side and scooped up a small portion of the gray ashes onto her palm, flattening it above her head as the heavy winds blew it from her grasp. This she did again and again, trying to fight the growing sense of finality the actions stirred. The others followed suit after a while, all taking a handful of ash and releasing it into the wind, watching it drift out of sight over the busy sidewalks of the city. Steve saw Betty kiss her fist before opening it to let the wind claim what was once hers.

Before long, the urn was as empty as they were, left standing on top of their home with no idea what to do now. The memories plagued them, and as the last of the ashes disappeared from their sight, they all fell into their own heavy silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Thaddeus was looking over the reports from the latest Hulk experiments. Thus far, trying to replicate the accident had failed, and none of the subjects survived the explosion. The other experiments involving Banner's blood had lead to deformed, grotesque creatures that writhed in pain for hours before they were finally put out of their misery. Medals of service were sent to each of the volunteers' families, but the loss of his men was starting to grate on the general. If a man as spineless as Bruce Banner could survive the exposure, why couldn't any of his weathered soldiers?

He was rereading the findings of Banner's dissection when a movement outside his office window caught his attention. Ross turned just in time to see the glass explode around him, shards cutting into his arms where he had raised them to shield his face. The blast sent him flying back into his desk, blurring his vision with a crack to the head. He didn't see the man before he heard him speak.

"General Ross."

Instantly, the soldier whipped his head towards the sound of the voice, fixing the speaker with a glare that promised retribution. But the face he found was not the one he was suspecting.

"Stark?" Thaddeus laughed, lowering his arms with a grin. The man wasn't even in his armor. He stood before the general with little more than a slightly muffed suit and sunglasses.

"I didn't think you'd be the one the Avengers would send to do their dirty work, Stark. I thought you left that game?"

Tony stepped forward violently, snatching the man by the collar and hoisting him up with superhuman strength. It was then that the general saw the orb glowing beneath the billionaire's shirt, and heard the whirr of machinery beneath his sleeves. So, he had a new model, then.

"I'm not here for the Avengers, I'm here for Bruce," Tony growled, holding the older man a good two feet off the ground. His wrist didn't so much as tremble under the weight, just like he'd intended for his new "stealth" suit.

"Banner? Isn't it a little late for that? I already gave him back to you," Ross laughed, despite the odds currently stacked against him. Angry men were stupid, and stupid men gave him a few more seconds for his soldiers to get there.

But Tony didn't reply. Instead, a blade jutted from his sleeve, embedded in the black armor beneath it. Ironman held the point uncomfortably close to Ross' jugular. Cool acceptance crossing his features, the general hung back his head, baring his neck to the blade. The suit may not have weakened under his weight, but it wasn't weight that made the point against his neck tremble.

Neither one knew how long they stayed like that, before Tony finally swore and threw the general to the ground.

"Couldn't do it, eh? You really have gone soft, Stark," Ross huffed, relieved he had won his silent bet. He probably should have been running then, but he'd always been a competitive man. And now, he needed to put Stark in his place.

He wasn't expecting the blade to be pushed towards his neck a second time, nor for the thumb of the other hand to close around his throat.

"You can thank Bruce for that," Tony snarled, his faceplate cracking open to look the general face to face, "but now that he's gone, no one is there to fight for your life anymore. The only reason you are not bleeding out right now is because I know it's not what Bruce would have wanted."

The general laughed, then brought his own hand to try and pry Stark's metal fingers from his neck. His chuckle was met with a sharp sting on his neck, right over his jugular. He couldn't help but swallow as the grin faded from his face. Stark's eyes glinted with malice, his sadistic pleasure painted in a quirk of his cheek.

"You give me one reason, Ross. One reason to put you under, and I swear, I'll end you so painfully that Bruce's death looked painless. You make one move towards me or any of my friends, if you so much as mention Banner's name again, you'll regret it. And you better fucking pray that this is the last time you see me," Tony spat, throwing Ross back down onto the floor with enough force to make the general smack his head again.

"Fine," the soldier growled. After the Battle of New York, Iron Man was untouchable. To publicly accuse him of something like this was fruitless. Tony Stark would have already set up an alias, and found a way to erase his image from any security camera.

"Glad we could chat," Tony said, retracting his armor from his head and neck, sliding his hands back into his pockets. The man jumped down from the second story window with no difficulty, and the general didn't bother to watch him go. He could barely hear his door being forced open over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.


End file.
